


Victim

by darrus



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrus/pseuds/darrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aitor is biding his time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victim

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this photo of Aitor  
> http://24.media.tumblr.com/76ba1eb1bd29032a61e6a39609995c5a/tumblr_mp9ycr6AA41rdhjyqo2_1280.jpg

They put him before the mirror and dress him up. Put him in hipster clothes, make him pose. Turn on the lights, flash cameras at him. Paint his face with subtle colors and film again. All to make a set of photos worthy of a fashion magazine. Everyone could be a model.

Then they edit the images, work on them. Removing lines on his face, removing imperfections so his face looks younger – and strangely leave his hands to tell the tale of his real age. On the printouts he looks young and lewd to the point of obscenity, gay-icon wannabe. He doesn’t recognize himself on these pictures, but then he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror either. It’s him and then it’s not. He puts hand to his mouth like he did on the photos and sees a wedding ring. Nothing is ever simple. Nothing is ever straightforward.

It’s not him – but then it is. Lately.

It is the first summer of his life when he does what he cares to do. His freedom is a burden, his time is something to be killed, his desire is something he knows all too well. It is The summer of his life. Definitely. Nothing was ever like that, nothing will ever be.

He takes lovers – in plural. One is not enough to satisfy the need. He looks and searches and finds – men slightly older than him, with graying hair and tanned skin. He looks for similarities and sees only difference and it is fine, because no one can be like the man he needs. It is comforting in a strange way.

He looks for rare photos on the net, searching tumblr and other sites, and has a folder on his laptop where he stores all his finds. José with his wife. With his kids. With his players. And never with Rui. 

In a Limbo Aitor finds himself in Rui doesn’t exist. Aitor pretends to not even remember the face, to not ever knowing the man. Erases him from his planes of existence. In this strange, liquid time of hot pre-season summer José doesn’t have a lover and isn’t married to his assistant as much as this expression applies to these two. Photos from Algarve support this conviction. On these photos young man with dark curly hair never appears, never lights up José’s smile by some well-timed joke. That makes Aitor believe that all is right in the world.

He finds himself lovers that can be as good as José. As skilled in love as José is. He spends hours in nondescript hotel rooms with strangers he doesn’t want, loses himself in ecstasy of pure carnal desire. He imagines how it could have been with José and finds another one.

Another two, because something even that is not enough. He tries things he’s never done before. In these… encounters he is always the one setting rules. He is always on top, in every sense of this word. Like roleplaying, which is all that is. Pretending that things that happened were not real. That a dreamworld he builds from his solitude and white-hot summer days is what really exists. He is believing in things he makes up.

Coping mechanism, maybe. Self-destruction, certainly. He’s not in a haste to go on with his future. Whatever this future holds for him, it won’t make up for the past three years. He holds on to them. As long as he doesn’t move on, these years, months, days won’t fade away from him. He hears out offers and doesn’t give an answer, having a perfect excuse of a still-running contract allowing him this liberty.

He knows that people are talking about Real not knowing what to do with him – he’s stumbling upon articles on the net while searching for José, chasing José like a stalker would. He finds strange happiness in knowing that at least in virtual reality he is still locked to José, chained to him, in twitter jokes, in people’s minds he’s still José’s. That’s what he is holding on to. He belongs to José, and that is right, that is how it should be.

That’s obsession, tells him calmly rational part of his mind. Obsession, agrees he wholeheartedly. All those years José is his obsession. His love. His reason to live. Should it be a wonder he’s not ready to let go? Whatever the future holds, he doesn’t want to live without a reason. Being a coach of some obscure club in other part of the world would never count as one. Even Real will not count as one – what is any club compared to José?

He’s taking another lover because what he has is never enough. He likes it when the one he abandoned calls him once, twice, waits for him outside the hotel, begs with him to continue, to have one more night – it makes him feel better, it makes him feel powerful. Not lost and helpless like he is in real life, abandoned dog on a train station waiting for his master, looking for him. In this reality that-is-not-quite-reality he is the one with the power to break hearts. It is satisfying. As much as sex is.

In reality he’s biding time, waiting for José. Waiting for something that may never happen. Filling days and nights with things that help him not to think. Aitor is strong, stronger than people give him credit for. He doesn’t break down. A month has passed and he is still alive. That is strength. José would be proud of him. José understands what it takes to survive after him. José leaves a lot of broken hearts, passing by, moving from one country to another, destroying people who couldn’t find defense against his charm. José is like that. José never means harm, he just doesn’t care for those he leaves.

Aitor survives still. One month has passed and another one is on the run, and the Earth didn’t shatter, the sky never crushed down. Aitor takes another lover – if it can be termed like that. Whatever they are doing in bed has nothing to do with love. The only love Aitor has is for José. Only for José.

Sometimes he is ready to take the phone and call and beg José to take him back. He’s saying meaningless words about beginning his own career and would kneel before José and beg to be allowed back. No matter that Ana said she won’t go to London. In this suspended reality of summer Ana doesn’t count at all. Aitor is in love. And this love is for José.

He crashes into a man that reminds him of Rui, and takes the man with him, and fucks him, hurts him and feels better for it. And then washes it from his body, scrubs himself clean till he doesn’t feel it anymore, this blinding satisfaction at being with someone else, someone other than José. And then he is ready to beg for forgiveness. He doesn’t. Just opens the browser again and continues his wild hunt. He finds a photo of José half-naked under the warm sun and jerks off to it and then saves it in the same folder as others. Everyone survives the way he can. José would know that, he forced too many people to survive, Aitor is just the latest victim.

He would like to know who will be the next. He doesn’t care who was before him. He wants to call José and return to be his shadow, trailing after him without hope for anything but smile and pat on the shoulder. Watching José being happy and in love. Being a voyeur with position in the front row, watching how José makes love to Rui even without touching him. Watching it happen the other way around.

This is what it means to be alive in Aitor’s world. Other things he is not so sure about.

He still has a way back. But deciding his future means letting go of the past. That is what he doesn’t want to do.

He is biding his time. Waiting.


End file.
